Of Sensations and Enigmas
by BeautifulllDisaster09
Summary: Your typical Post-TRF smut! John realizes that he was in love with Sherlock. Sherlock returns from the dead and he acts on those feelings. They end up tangled in bed together. Each being the other's sensation and enigma. WARNINGS: SLASH! SMUT! ONESHOT!


DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock!

SUMMARY: Your typical Post-Reichenbach smut! John realizes that he was in love with Sherlock. Sherlock returns and he acts on those feelings. They end up tangled in bed together. Each being the other's sensation and enigma.

WARNINGS: SMUT! SLASH! Top!Sherlock, Bottom!John. male/male…. You get the picture…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please be gentle. This is my first ever SMUT story. I hope it is okay and I hope you all enjoy it! It will probably end up becoming a one-shot series! Anyway, R&R for me, please! I love the reviews; they feed my soul!

OF SENSATIONS AND ENIGMAS

It was ironic, really, that John Watson had spent his entire life trying to convince anyone who would listen that he was _not_ gay. It was ironic because now being gay was the least of his problems. Now the problem was that the only man he had ever loved was dead. Now, he couldn't find anyone even slightly attractive, male or female. It was as if all the color had been drained from the world the second the detective had departed from it, leaving everything dull and tasteless.

John had been severely depressed for about three months after Sherlock's death, before he allowed himself to accept that he had loved his friend and flat mate. That's why he couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't even get out of bed without the sleuth. After those three months of darkness, pain and excessive drinking, John, having accepted his feelings, decided to continue living as Sherlock would have. He kept everything exactly the way it was the day Sherlock had left.

The cases became his obsession and he lived for danger. He quit his job at the surgery and spent all of his time solving crimes and chasing down criminals. It had been difficult at first, without Sherlock's brilliant mind, but John did his best. He just kept repeating the same phrase. _What would Sherlock see?_ It had been three years now and John considered himself to be doing well (although others would say otherwise). At least he didn't sit around moping and contemplating suicide all day every day.

He had just finished a case and decided to walk home, rather than get a cab. He and Sherlock used to do that sometimes to clear their minds. They would usually stop off at a Chinese place along the way, chatting amicably. Now, John walked alone and he definitely did not feel like eating. He rarely did these days. Since Sherlock's death he had lost a significant amount of weight. He came up to 221B and walked up the steps to his lonely home. He let himself into the flat and immediately noticed something was off. Someone had dusted the mantelpiece and had moved the skull to the side-table.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John called.

She appeared in the doorway. "Yes, dear?"

"Did you dust?"

"Oh, yes!" she replied. "It was getting horrible on that mantle! Cobwebs and everything!"

"Yes, I appreciate that… But you moved the skull. _His _skull," John told her. "Everything has to stay like was. He'll want it that way! You know he hates it when people touch his things. He'll be upset."

The _when he comes back_ was left floating unsaid between them and Mrs. Hudson giving him "the look" again; the look of pity that crossed her face when he didn't refer to Sherlock in the past tense. He knew everyone thought he was crazy for it, but John refused to believe that Sherlock had _died._ He'd be back. Somewhere in his medical mind he recognized this as denial, but he pushed that thought away, far away.

"I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Hudson said quietly.

"It's fine," John mumbled. "Thank you for dusting."

"Just this once, love," she said warmly. "I'm not your housekeeper."

"I know," he replied.

"Well, it's getting late. I'll be off. If you need anything just give a shout."

"Thank you"

With that, Mrs. Hudson made her way downstairs. John set about making some teas before settling into some crap-telly. He watched the programs and reminisced of Sherlock incessant shouting at the screen. How he wished the detective would come home already.

He had been watching the telly for about an hour when there was a sharp rap on the door. _Who on Earth is making a house-call at this time of night?_ John thought as he got up to answer it. The sight on the other side of the door made his heart stop.

"Hello, John. I've missed you."

There standing in the doorway was Sherlock Holmes. A rush of emotion crashed into John. Shock, joy, relief, confusion, and finally rage. He reared back and punched the man in front of him, who staggered back, fell into a heap on the floor, and stared up at him in shock.

"Don't give me that look!" he told the man on the floor. "Where the _hell_ have you been?"

"W-well, I've – "

"No, don't answer that!" John commanded. "Get inside!"

The sleuth, thoroughly surprised by the doctor's action, simply nodded and hastened to comply. Once they were both inside the flat John shut the door sharply and turned to glare at him once again.

"Do you have _any _idea what I've been through?" John demanded, his body trembling in fury.

"I – "

"Shut up!" John all but shouted. "It's been three _years_, Sherlock." He reeled very suddenly and shoved the man back on the floor, paced a bit, and then said, "Get up!"

And again Sherlock complied, looking at John as if the doctor had lost his mind.

"Now, come here!"

"I'm not entirely sure that I want to."

"Come. Here." John growled, causing Sherlock to shuffle forward hesitantly. "I missed you!"

He grabbed the detective, shoved him against the wall, and crushed his lips to the sleuth's mouth, momentarily forgetting (or perhaps, simply not caring) that Sherlock was another man. It took a minute for Sherlock to do anything but stand there in shock. But then, he reacted, hesitantly kissing back. John pulled him closer, drowning in the feeling of the lithe body in his arms, and Sherlock finally melted into the kiss. He allowed himself to disappear in the sensation of John's lips on his. The ex-soldier's mouth was rough and desperate on his. John slid his tongue lightly along the detective's lower lip and forced it inside his mouth the second that the Cupid's bow parted. It took only a moment for Sherlock's tongue to start pushing back against John's as they explored each other orally. Finally, John pulled back from the kiss for air.

"Don't ever leave me again," he ordered breathlessly.

"Never," Sherlock responded, just as winded as his flat-mate, before he was swept back up into sensation as John pressed hot, wet kisses to his neck and jaw line. The detective gasped and leaned against the wall, heavily. "J-John…" he whispered desperately.

"Bedroom," John said. And with that the two of them stumbled down the hall toward Sherlock's room in a flurry of kisses.

Once inside, John pushed Sherlock onto the bed and climbed on top of the man, straddling his hips. He nipped and bit at the detective's throat as he worked the too many buttons on the man's shirt. Once the blasted thing had been opened, John stripped the material off of the pale shoulders and threw it to the ground. He took a moment to admire the smooth, subtle muscles of the chest below him before he set his mouth back to the flesh just under Sherlock's ear and began kissing and sucking his way down the man's body. When John ran his tongue over the sensitive skin of Sherlock's nipple, the man moaned quietly and bucked his hips up against his doctor. John took the rounded nub into mouth, sucking at it gently and moaning as the detective beneath him bucked and gasped, causing the hardened flesh of their erections to rub together.

John kissed lower and lower until he came to Sherlock's waistband. He licked along the seam, making Sherlock shiver. His hand rested against the definite bulge in the man's trousers, a little unsure. This was, after all, his first time doing something of this nature with another male. So far, the experience had been extremely similar to his sexual interactions with women, but now they were coming to the difference. Sherlock was _male._ The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He pulled his hand away slowly and started to pull away from the detective all together. It was too much.

Sherlock sensed the change in John's mood. The doctor was becoming nervous. _Why? Anxiety. Nervousness due to uncomfortable situation. No, not uncomfortable. He was clearly aroused. New. The situation was new… different. What was different? Gender._ His doctor was becoming nervous because they were both male. He was repressing himself again. Sherlock was not going to have it. Not now, when they had come this far.

"S-Sorry," John said. "I-I shouldn't ha – "

John was cut off by Sherlock pulling him back down and crushing their lips together again. John melted into the kiss and Sherlock flipped them so that he was on top. He roughly yanked John's beige jumper over his head and tossed it toward his own shirt on the floor.

"Sherlock, I – "

Again John was cut off; this time with a gasp as Sherlock sucked on the soft flesh of his neck. The detective kissed his way down John's body, just as the doctor had done to him. He sucked the man's nipples and dragged his teeth over the skin of John's chest, eliciting wonderful sounds from the doctor. When Sherlock reached John's trousers he paused only a second before undoing them and removing them, followed by John's boxers.

He then, took a moment to appreciate all that was John. The way his chest rose and fell in aroused huffs. The defined muscles of John's abdomen. His eyes fell onto the scar on the ex-soldier's shoulder. It was strangely beautiful, like an obscure, morbid work of art. But, Sherlock supposed that sense of beauty was actually emitted from John himself. The doctor was intoxicating; all that is masculine. Truly, artistically, beautiful.

Sherlock bent down to kiss at John's hip, causing the man to gasp and buck his hips a bit. He kissed and licked his way closer to the flushed flesh of John's erection. When he was only inches away, he pulled back to watch his John's face as he lightly stroked the length of the man beneath him.

"Sher – "John gasped. "I-I need – mmm…"

"I need it too, John," Sherlock told him. "I need you."

John cried out as Sherlock grasped him firmly and began pumping slowly. He didn't want John wasted too soon, after all. It was long until John was moaning and thrusting steadily back against Sherlock's hand.

"John," Sherlock panted. "I want more. Need it, need you. Please."

"Y-yeah," John moaned, caught up in the moment. "More. You. Sher-Sherlock. Mmm…"

With that, Sherlock pulled back a bit to change positions, so that John was lying on his back while his hips were nestled between John's bent knees. He leaned his head down to capture John's mouth again, until John pulled back suddenly.

"W-wait, Sherlock," John said. "You have to prepare me. I-I've never done this before. Not like this. We have to go slow or – "

Sherlock stopped the babbling with another searing kiss. "I know John. I won't hurt you. Relax."

"O-okay," John sighed into his detective's mouth. His hands wandered down the man's body, landing on the trousers that Sherlock was still wearing. "Off." He tugged at them gently.

Sherlock chuckled at John's lack of eloquence before he complied, tossing his pants and trousers onto the floor with John's There they lay, together, and completely naked. John had just enough time to admire Sherlock's graceful legs and tightly toned arse before he was lost in the feeling of his detective massaging his own arse, gently kneading and spreading him apart.

Sherlock fumbled with the side table drawer for a moment and presented a tub of Vaseline. He coated a few fingers and began lightly circling John's entrance with said digits. The doctor beneath him stiffened in anxiety.

"Shh…" Sherlock breathed against his ear. The sleuth ducked his head and sucked along John's jaw. John moaned and relaxed against the mattress.

"Sherlock," John hummed.

Sherlock circled him a bit longer before gently pressing a lubed finger into John, marveling at the ring of muscle's tight contraction. Slowly, he started pumping his finger in and out, twisting and curling in order to better pleasure the writhing man beneath him. He deliberately stroked John's prostate, delighting in the way the doctor keened and panted in pure ecstasy. He added another finger and then another until John was making sounds that Sherlock was not entirely sure were human. Pure sex. Animalistic. They shot straight to his already painfully hard, flushed arousal. He had to have him. Now.

He slipped his fingers out of John, causing him to whine at the loss. Sherlock coated his cock with the slick ointment and positioned himself at John's entrance. He gently pressed forward, breaching the muscle only an inch, before sheathing himself completely in flat mate. His _lover._ _His John._

John hissed softly at the slight burn of being filled so completely and Sherlock paused.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Y-yeah," John answered him. "J-just give me a second…"

"Mmm…" Sherlock replied. John needed a moment to allow his body to adjust around his and he was more than willing to oblige him. Sherlock felt John's acceptance before he heard it, as the doctor relaxed into the sensation. Nonetheless, he waited for the man's signal.

"O-okay," John moaned. "Mmmm… Ready. M-move."

And Sherlock did. He started slowly, gently, trying to savor the moment, savor John. But soon he began to lose himself in John's babbling and the overwhelming feeling of their bodies rubbing, thrusting, and rolling. Their movements became wild and desperate, each man trying to show the other their longer; their desire.

"Sh-Sherlock…" John cried. "I'm gonna… I-I need to – "

"Look at me, John," Sherlock whispered and caught the doctor's gaze. "Don't look away."

And John was coming in hot streams across Sherlock's chest and his own, screaming Sherlock's name, as he stared into those beautiful pale green eyes.

The look in John's blue eyes as he orgasmed was all it took to send Sherlock tumbling over the edge after him, spurting his hot release inside John's tight body. He rode out his quaking orgasm until he was completely spent and collapsing on top of the panting doctor, both men relishing in the afterglow. Their sweat and semen soaked skin pressed against one another in their exhausted embrace. That is until:

"Sherlock," John choked out. "You have to get off me. Can't breathe."

Not the sexiest thing to say, but it was entirely John. And that fact alone caused Sherlock to chuckle lightly as he rolled off of his doctor and onto his back. John snuggled up next to him, yawning.

"You can never leave me…" John mumbled against the chest that cushioned his head.

"I'm not going anywhere, John," Sherlock told him. "Not ever again."

"Mmm… Promise?" John asked sleepily.

"I promise," Sherlock responded.

"Good," John yawned again, nuzzling a bit into Sherlock's side. Within minutes John was sound asleep, snoring lightly.

Sherlock watched his John sleeping peacefully and smiled. This man was a sensation and an enigma. Wonderful in every way. Fascinating. And Sherlock could never get enough. "You are amazing," he whispered into the sleeping doctor's blonde hair. He pressed a soft kiss to John's temple, rolling his eyes at his own sentiment, before giving himself up to sleep.

A/N: Okay, so there you go… My first smut EVER! I hope you guys like it. Feel free to review or PM me with ideas for any sequels you'd like to see! Anyway! Thanks for reading and see you next time! :3


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